


This Time Around

by purpleeyesandbowties



Category: EOS 10 (Podcast)
Genre: (i've written worse), (not bad tho), (slight trigger warning for injuries), Fluff, M/M, angst? a little?, anyway, au where ryan and ak were childhood friends, gay dorks with feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-10
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-20 12:42:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,444
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8249513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleeyesandbowties/pseuds/purpleeyesandbowties
Summary: It was no secret that Akmazian was in love with Ryan. Everyone knew it—including Ryan. No, Akmazian didn’t try to hide his flirting, his moony eyes, his extreme protectiveness of the doctor’s well being. Akmazian’s secret wasn’t that he was in love with Ryan, no. It was how long he had loved him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [citadelofswords (paradoxicalRenegade)](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=citadelofswords+%28paradoxicalRenegade%29).



> this idea came from citadelofswords and they were very kind to allow me to run with it :) this was super fun to write and also took way longer than i thought it would! sorry....  
> (the original post had akmazian moving away, but for my purposes, i made it ryan. i hope that's okay!) i also borrowed gowiththeferling's headcanon of akmazian's real name, ian arena kaufer-mas, again! thanks!

It was no secret that Akmazian was in love with Ryan. Everyone knew it—including Ryan. No, Akmazian didn’t try to hide his flirting, his moony eyes, his extreme protectiveness of the doctor’s well being. Akmazian’s secret wasn’t that he was in love with Ryan, no. It was how _long_ he had loved him.

—

Back, way back, before the Academy and the Alliance, before everything, two young boys lived a few doors apart from each other in a small town sheltered from the rest of the world. The older of the two was wild, fearless, and reckless. The younger was smart, athletic, and eager to prove himself. The two were fast friends, thick as thieves. Neither could have told you when or how they had met—they had always just _been_. Ian and Ryan. Ryan and Ian. Bruises and scratches, mussed hair and torn clothes. Matching smiles, grubby hands reaching into cookie jars, too much energy for such small frames. A quintessential childhood friendship.

“Here comes trouble,” Ian’s mama would sigh, watching the two boys tumble across the lawn, their laughter carrying through the neighborhood.

“Here we are,” Ian would agree, flashing his trademark bright smile at his mom. Ryan would nod and smile along, adding in a quiet, “ma’am,” before tearing after Ian again. Ian’s mother always phoned to make sure Ryan’s mother knew where he was. Ryan’s mother never returned the favor. It concerned her, how little Ryan’s parents seemed to care about the whereabouts of their son.

Sofía always set an extra plate on the table for Ryan, and he almost always accepted it. They put galaxy-patterned sheets on the guest bedroom next to Ian’s, and Ryan slept there three or four days a week (and spent another night or two camping out in the backyard with Ian). It was almost like having another son. (Though not quite like it, she mused, watching how Ian’s eyes lit up when he looked at Ryan, the blush that spread across his face. Young love was nearly always doomed, but she indulged her son anyway as he intently described to her exactly how his and Ryan’s wedding would be someday, after they were grown up. After all, what could it hurt?)

Ian and Ryan lived a whirlwind five years as each other’s shadows. Getting into trouble and charming their way out, spending all day outside and coming back red with sunburn and covered in dirt. Laying on the roof at night, trying in vain to see the stars through the light pollution of the city.

“I’m gonna go there someday,” Ian confided to Ryan one night, just after his tenth birthday. “Go and travel in the stars.”

“Really? Why? My dad says it’s dangerous and boring. I don’t know how it can be both at once, but that’s what he said.”

“That’s why I wanna go,” Ian responded, rolling onto his side to look seriously at Ryan. “I’m gonna join the Alliance and fight bad guys! I could be a soldier, or, or—a spy! Yeah! That would be awesome.”

Ryan agreed, it would be awesome. But after a long moment of silence, he said, “If you go there, can I go with you?”

“Yeah,” Ian said. “Of course. I don’t want to do it without you. I don’t want to do _anything_ without you.”

“Promise?” Ryan asked.

“Promise,” Ian said, extending his pinky. Ryan hooked his pinky with Ian’s. 

“Good.”

He turned back to the stars, eyes tracing the faint outline of the Big Dipper—the only constellation they could see. After a moment, Ian rolled over again, tucking himself against Ryan’s side.

“It’s cold,” he muttered, even though it wasn’t.

“Yeah,” Ryan said.

They fell asleep like that, under the stars they promised to explore together.

—

Two months later, Ryan’s mom and dad finally signed the divorce papers that had been sitting in his dad’s study for years. Ryan moved to Paris with his mom and left behind the boy with the blinding smile. His smile was never so bright as it used to be, after that.

—

And by god, Akmazian had been far gone on Ryan since the day they met, just two kids living life as fully as they could. It was a childhood love, one that never really left. It just faded as time passed on. He’d always wondered if he’d have loved Ryan his whole life, if they hadn’t been pushed apart.

Akmazian grew up into someone else, someone he never thought he’d end up being, but he never forgot about Ryan. He’d thought about trying to find him sometimes—first day of high school, last day of Academy, when he finally got placed in the Alliance, the day he was promoted to a spy. The day he was demoted to a terrorist, his name used to clean up someone else’s mess. The day Ian died and Akmazian took his place.

He never did go through with it. He knew the name—there couldn’t be that many people with the surname Dalias. Even more than that, Akmazian knew Ryan’s father was a commander in the Alliance. His son wouldn’t be that hard to find, if he absolutely wanted to.

But Akmazian always stopped himself. Maybe he was ashamed of how he’d acted way back then. The day Ryan left, Ian hadn’t said goodbye. He’d locked himself in his room and stared at the wall, trying to stop the tears before they fell. He didn’t say goodbye, because Ryan would never leave without saying goodbye to him. But Ryan left anyway.

The first time Ryan had sent him a letter from his new home in Paris, Ian had ripped it up without reading it. He had never been so angry before. His best friend had left him without a care in the world, _without even saying goodbye_. He hated him for it. Deep down he knew it wasn’t Ryan’s fault—and that it was _him_ who refused to say goodbye. But he still ripped up the letter. He threw away the second one, the third and the fourth. By the time he’d calmed down enough to realize that maybe pushing away his only means of communication with his best friend wasn’t the best idea, Ryan’s letters had stopped coming. He sent a letter of his own that came back undelivered. After that he….he gave up. What was the point? Ryan probably hated him now. It was best just to forget about him and let Ryan do the same.

Ian made new friends and graduated school and discovered he was good at being a soldier and even better at being a spy and that he loved the stars just as much in person as he did as a kid. Even if he traveled them alone. Ian had his own life. He didn’t think about Ryan for years. 

 

Until the day Akmazian got a call from one of his contacts. (His most annoying contact, but also one of the least likely to rat him out, so it evened out. Somewhat).

“You know I’m a busy man, kitchen boy. Whatever you need, make it snappy.”

The voice on the other end of the comm spoke quickly, though that was pretty common for Arule Delatro Levithian III.

“One of my good friends is deathly ill. He needs medicine immediately.”

“Does he now?” Akmazian drawled, slow and unconcerned. “Well, ain’t that interesting.”

“This is serious!” Levi insisted. “Doctor Dalias is in critical condition. He needs Benzetoin Five immediately.”

“Well, I’m sure he can hold on a little longer. I have lots of other important things to attend to. Goodbye.” Akmazian made to cut the comm’s connection, but before he could, Levi said shrewdly, “You will want to meet him.”

“And why would that be, kitchen boy?”

“Doctor Dalias is a very attractive man. Excellent musculature, great ass—big forehead, but that just adds to his charm, I believe. And there is something else.”

“…I’m listening.”

“I have seen what afflicts him and…you will want to see as well. Trust me.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“You will just have to come and see for yourself. Bring the medicine.”

Akmazian shut down the connection, grumbling. But it wasn’t like he had anything better to do, contrary to what he’d told the kitchen boy. And maybe this doctor would be more interesting than staring at the walls of his cargo bay.

—

“God—fucking—dammit!” Akmazian yelled. He whirled and smashed his fist against the side of a cargo container. He stared at the large dent it made in silent frustration for a long moment, breathing heavily. He shook his stinging knuckles, hardly caring that he’d probably broken at least one finger. What did it matter, anyway?

Ryan’s face—and goddamnit, of course, of-fucking-course it was Ryan fuckin’ Dalias who had come waltzing into his cargo bay—flashed across his mind’s eye. His skepticism, his obvious distrust and disgust. The mocking sound of his laughter.

“You’re….Akmazian?” he had said, uncertainty coloring his voice, and for one blinding moment, Akmazian had _hoped._

He had hoped that Ryan recognized him as instantaneously as he had recognized Ryan. How could he not, after all? Everything about Ryan was burned into his memory—his hair, that beautiful shade of pink Akmazian had never seen on anyone else, not even on his intimidating twin sister—the freckles across his nose, the chip on his front left tooth (curtesy of a bad idea spearheaded by Ian and assisted by a trashcan lid and a steep hill after a long rain), even the cowlick on the left side of his head and could never be tamed. 

 

_“My mom made me get a haircut,” Ryan grumbled, patting the short pink stubble on his head. “To get rid of that cowlick, you know? Says says it looks ‘undignified’. And also ‘cause she thinks I’ll get made fun of in school for having pink hair. It’s not my fault my hair is like this! I hate it short. It looks bad.”_

_“I liked it better when it was long, too,” Ian admitted. Ryan’s pink hair is what had first caught his attention. Ian thought it was the prettiest hair he’d ever seen. Ryan shrugged, getting over it as easily as a seven-year old was inclined to. “It’ll grow out again. And I bet my cowlick will still be there, no matter how many times she makes me cut it.”_

_Ian fingered his own hair. It was long, jet black, and pulled into a tight braid. More often than not, he let his little sister thread flowers into it. He knew a thing or two about getting made fun of in school. At least he’d have Ryan now. They could be made fun of for their hair together._

 

Akmazian growled, banishing the memory. What good would it do now? Ryan was here, and he hated him. 

And, even worse, he didn’t recognize him. Of course he didn’t. Why would his best friend recognize him anyway? He looked like a completely different person—facial reconstruction surgery after an unlucky getaway explosion, scars crisscrossing his arms, legs, neck, chest. His voice had changed drastically and he’d picked up an accent after his mama moved them back to Mars to work on the family ranch. He didn’t even go by the same name anymore. There was no reason for Ryan to recognize him. And yet, he had hoped…

Akmazian jammed the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Fuck,” he muttered. “Fuck, fuck, _fuck._ ”

Nothing he said had jogged Ryan’s memory. Not even the comment about being one sixty-fourth Centurian, something that had been so important in their childhood. Another memory floated up, unbidden.

 

_“You’re an alien? No way,” Ryan exclaimed. He sat up fully, staring intently at Ian’s face._

_“Yup! My mama’s great-great-great-great-grandma was Centurian.”_

_“That is so awesome.” Ryan flopped down next to Ian again, grass to his back and the sun high above them in the sky. “So do you have superpowers or something? My sister says that aliens have like, super speed or telepathy and stuff! …Maybe that’s why you beat me when we race.”_

_“Naw, it’s just ‘cause you’re slow.”_

_“Oh really? You may be faster, but I’m totally stronger!”_

_Ryan pounced on Ian, wresting him to the ground. Ian wriggled out from under him and they were off, sprinting across the park. When Ryan finally caught up to him, he tackled him again. Ian went down without a fight this time. When they finally settled down, Ian pulled back his hair to expose the tips of his ears, which were slightly pointed._

_“See? I got Centurian ears. Well, kinda. If you squint.”_

_“That is so cool,” Ryan breathed. He touched the ear tip lightly. Ian tried to smoother his giggle, but failed. Ryan’s face lit up. “Oh, so they’re ticklish?”_

_“No!” Ian yelped. Ryan laughed and pounced on him again._

 

Not even _that_ had made a difference. No, Akmazian mused, face flushing with embarrassment. Instead of remembering, he had _laughed_ at Akmazian. And that was the worst part. Ryan’s hatred, he could handle. His distrust, fine. But being the object of Ryan’s ridicule? That was the thing that really, truly hurt.

“Fuck,” Akmazian said, one more time. 

—

They kept running into each other. Station-wide emergencies brought them together, as did Urvidian falling off the wagon, and Akmazian explaining his innocence, and Admiral Dalias’ funeral on Earth. Levi’s stupid botanical experiments, and that fucking disaster with the _Orchid_. Every meeting walked the thin line between exhilarating and terrifying. Every time he was sure that Ryan had finally remembered him, and every time his hopes were shot down. Every time, he almost decided to tell Ryan who he was, and every time he chickened out.

And yet, slowly but surely, they became friends again. Ryan loved to talk, once Akmazian could get him started, and he was just as curious about Akmazian’s life as an outlaw as Akmazian was about Ryan. They swapped stories, moving from the realm of ‘I have to prove something’ to ‘I want to make you laugh’ over a period of months. Akmazian expected it to stop there, but it continued on, from that to ‘this reminded me of something that happened to us’ and finally, unexpectedly, ‘I want to tell you this because I trust you and I think you should know.’ Which was how Akmazian told Ryan about his hellish days as a spy of the Alliance, and how they led to his downfall. It was how Ryan told Akmazian about his addiction and what it took to beat it. 

And, in a conversation that left Akmazian trembling with nerves, Ryan told him about Ian—about the boy he grew up with that abandoned him so easily. Akmazian listened, heart torn between jumping out his chest with nervousness and breaking in half for the mistakes he’d made so long ago. And after that, he decided it was for the best Ryan never recognized him. Ryan had moved on and it was high time Akmazian did too.

And then, just as he’d decided that, something else unexpected happened—he fell in love with Ryan. Not the childish kind of love he felt for Ryan when they were kids, or the flirtatious infatuation he felt when they met again as adults. This was real, proper, true love. 

It felt so natural, it almost scared him. 

But, in true Akmazian style, he fully embraced it. He didn’t bother to hide it; everyone who knew Akmazian knew he loved Ryan Dalias. Word began to spread, even past the walls of EOS 10. Akmazian had been an important part of the criminal underground since he picked up the mantel of The Destroyer. 

Unfortunately, word traveled fast underground. Not long after Akmazian realized it himself, every major underground figure knew that he was in love. Ryan became a legend among the underground—the man who tamed The Destroyer.

They really should have seen it coming.

—

The day of Ryan’s kidnapping started like most days: Akmazian getting yelled at.

“Why the fuck are you in my room?” Ryan shouted, scrambling to hide his bare chest with his bedcovers.

“You sleep in the nude, doctor?” Akmazian drawled. “Well, ain’t _that_ interesting.”

Ryan flushed a pretty shade of red, annoyed and embarrassed. “Fuck you,” he muttered.

“Whenever you want, darlin,” Akmazian purred. He cracked a grin, holding up his hands innocently.

“Now before you murder me, I am actually here for something. I need your help.”

“…Another lead on the conspiracy?” Ryan asked in a tone that implied he already knew the answer.

“You got it, darlin,” Akmazian replied, and winked. “Not that I wouldn’t mind if you didn’t, but you might want to get dressed. You don’t want to be in your skivvies where we’re going.”

Ryan rolled out of bed with a groan. He wasn’t as naked as Akmazian thought—he was sporting a pair of loose sleep pants. Still. Not a bad view, Akmazian thought appreciatively.

“Do you _mind?_ ” Ryan said, raising an eyebrow pointedly. He gestured at his unclad upper half. Akmazian smirked. “No…I really don’t.”

He ducked the pillow Ryan launched at him but turned to face away while the doctor dragged open his clothes drawer. A few rustling sounds later, and Ryan appeared at his side, properly clad in a pair of jeans, a shirt, and a jacket.

“Whatever. Let’s go.”

“Shall we?” Akmazian asked, offering his arm to Ryan. He ignored it and flounced towards the door. Akmazian could barely contain his dumb grin—Ryan was still adorable when he was in a mood, no matter how many years had passed.

—

Four hours, a trip in the Silent Storm, and a planet later, that grin was nowhere to be seen.

“Come out of hiding, asshole,” Akmazian growled, hefting his blaster. “I know you’re around here somewhere. If you cooperate now, I’ll consider _not_ cutting every appendage off your miserable body one by one.”

A laugh from the shadows.

“Big words from a big man. But can you follow through? Word is you’ve gone soft, Destroyer.”

“Come say that to my face, fucker,” Akmazian said. He tracked the sound of the voice, blaster aimed and ready. He turned in a slow circle, straining to hear something. Anything.

They’d been ambushed the instant Akmazian and Ryan had stepped from The Silent Storm. The assholes who jumped them had knocked them both over the head with the butt of a blaster—at least, Akmazian assumed they’d done the same to Ryan. He was too busy being unconscious to see what was happening.

Akmazian had come to a few minutes later with a pounding headache and a missing doctor. At least they’d been dumb enough to leave him with his own gun. He’d tracked the abductors to a shoddy warehouse a few miles away.

The taunting voice came again.

“Word is you went soft over some pretty boy. Well, I will admit he _is_ pretty enough. Nothing to write home about, of course, and there’s no accounting for taste, but I’m sure I could think of _some_ uses for him.”

“Keep your fucking hands off him!” Akmazian spat. The voice chuckled. 

“Ah, so it is true. You _care_ for him.”

“Come over here and I’ll show you exactly how much I care,” Akmazian muttered. He narrowed his eyes, searching the corners of the room. There! There was a shallow piece of scaffolding about ten feet off the ground. He could just barely make out the shadow of a person thrown against the wall.

Akmazian took a deep breath and inched his way closer.

“So, what’s your plan here? Piss me off? You got that part covered, now what?”

“I want to get to know the man who tamed the Destroyer. So far, he doesn’t seem too special to me. But maybe he has hidden talents.”

“Again,” Akmazian said. “I’m warning you. Keep your fucking filthy hands off of him. Or I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Kill me? Oh, how scary. Really, Destroyer, I’m almost disappointed in you. I thought you’d be a lot more intimidating than this. Maybe he really did make you soft.”

“Ain’t nothing wrong with being soft,” Akmazian said, nothing soft in his voice. He slipped into the shadows, pressing himself against the wall and inching toward the scaffolding, breathing as silently as he could. Quickly, he made his way to under the scaffolding. He stopped directly under it and shot straight upwards, jumping to the side as it all came crashing down.

Ryan’s captor made a strangled scream, crashing to the floor with the scaffolding he was standing on.

Akmazian shook the debris from his hair, striding over to the man. He placed a booted foot on his throat and applied enough pressure to let him know he meant business.

“Where’s the doctor?” he asked, quiet and even.

The man huffed through his nose, not saying a word. Akmazian stepped down just a little harder. He coughed and spluttered but Akmazian didn’t let up.

“Tell me,” he said. 

Finally, the man choked out a strangled-sounded _yes._

Akmazian removed his boot. 

“See how easy that was?” he said. “Now. Where is he.”

The man rubbed his throat, coughing. His voice was hoarse and ragged when he finally spoke.

“In hell. I guess I’ll see you both there.”

With that, he pulled a knife from his sleeve and lunged at Akmazian. Akmazian took a hurried step back, dodging his swipe. The man quickly recovered, however, and took another literal stab at him. Akmazian dropped his gun in order to grab the man’s wrist. They grappled for a long moment, first Akmazian and then the man getting the upper hand. Finally, Akmazian managed to twist his wrist just right. It let out a painful sounding ‘pop’ and the man screamed, falling to one knee. Akmazian grinned victoriously.

“Now, about my doctor …”

Akmazian expected his assailant to try to run, to beg for mercy, to stay defiantly silent.

He didn’t expect the other knife to sink into his side.

—

“Akmazian!” a voice shouted, far away and tinny sounding. Akmazian squinted, cracking his eyes open just a hair. Light and sound bombarded him all at once and his eyes slid shut again. He could see the throb of light, red through his eyelids, but that was better than the light itself. The sound he could do nothing about. It was loud, whatever it was. Incessant. Almost pleading.

“Akmazian, can you hear me? Wake up! Oh, god.”

Akmazian took shallow breaths, not wanting to move and not sure he even could. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been unconscious, but by the feel of it he was laying in a pool of what felt like blood, and it was none too small. Slowly, he shifted his body. Pain shot through him, white-hot, and he stilled again. The pain, at least, had kick-started his brain. He opened his eyes fully, and this time, the world slid into focus.

“Akmazian!” Ryan was on his knees beside him, one hand pressed against the source of the pain in Akmazian’s side, the other clutching his hand. “You’re awake.”

“Ryan…” Akmazian tried. His voice came out wrong, weak and scratchy. He coughed wetly, unsurprised at the copper taste it left in his mouth. Ryan’s eyes tightened with worry. Akmazian felt his heart flutter in his chest, and not in the way it usually did when he looked at Ryan.

“Listen. I gotta tell you something,” he whispered.

“Shh, don’t worry about it. I’ve got you, you’re gonna be okay. Just focus on staying awake, okay? Stay with me.”

With that, Ryan released his hand to rip away the bottom half of his shirt. He sucked a breath in through his teeth, examining the wound. Akmazian could see him worrying his cheek with his teeth—not a good sign.

“It’s bad, isn’t it? Feels bad.”

“Well, It’s not good,” Ryan said.

“Doesn’t matter,” Akmazian grunted. He reached up, taking Ryan’s hand and drawing it close to his own chest. “Listen. I got something I have to say to you.”

“Akmazian, I have to help you—whatever you have to say can wait.”

“I don’t reckon it can, darlin.”

Suddenly, bleeding out here on this grimy warehouse floor, it was urgent that Ryan knew. Akmazian might die, or he might not, but either way, it had taken him too long to find the courage to say this. Ryan shook his hand out of Akmazian’s grip, going back to tearing strips off Akmazian’s shirt to make some sort of bandage.

“Akmazian, I’m serious, whatever confession of love or whatever you’re trying to make, there’s no time for it! Let me do my job and save your—”

“I’m sorry.”

Ryan snorted. “For what? Getting me kidnapped? This isn’t even the first time this has happened.”

“For never responding to your letter.”

Ryan’s hands stilled. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I was a shitty friend. I never forgave myself. I thought…you’d be better off without me.”

“Akmazian, what the hell are you talking about?” 

Ryan’s voice was steely, but was something in his eyes—a dawning sort of realization, and a desperate hope to be wrong. His grip tightened on the ragged hem of Akmazian’s shirt. 

“What are you talking about, Akmazian?” he demanded, shaking Akmazian’s shoulder. Akmazian groaned, fresh blood seeping onto the floor. Ryan shook his head. “You know what, never mind. I don’t fucking have time for this.”

Akmazian opened his mouth but Ryan slapped a hand over it. “Shut up. I mean it. I will stuff this shirt in your mouth if I have to.”

“Kinky,” Akmazian muttered. Ryan snorted and removed his hand. “Okay, I need to get you to the Quiet Rain. This is going to hurt,” he warned, and in the next instant Akmazian’s whole world tipped alarmingly. Head swimming, he groaned in pain. Ryan made a soft noise of agreement, gripping his shoulders to keep him upright. Together, with Ryan carrying most of Akmazian’s weight himself, they limped out of the warehouse and across the harsh sand of the planet they’d landed on. 

It was the longest two miles Akmazian had ever traveled. It was only thanks to Ryan’s silent support—literal and metaphorical—that Akmazian didn’t just let his legs give out halfway there. Ryan managed to extract the keys from the pocket of a barely-conscious Akmazian and drag him into the small med bay. After taking a moment to remove Akmazian’s tattered shirt and fold a blanket under his head, he returned to Akmazian’s wound, face serious and composed. Akmazian let his eyes slid shut, hoping to ward off the waves of pain that left his brain hazy. A cool hand touched his cheek, brushing away a tear that had slipped out.

“Hey,” Ryan said quietly. “You’re going to be okay. I’m going to make sure of it.”

“Awfully heroic of you, doctor. Saving me like this.”

“I’m no hero,” Ryan said. He sighed. “I’m a coward.”

Akmazian shook his head as clearly as he could. “Never.”

“I am, though,” Ryan said. He tore open a pack of sterile bandages with his teeth. He was obviously gathering his thoughts along with medical supplies, so Akmazian didn’t say anything.

Ryan began cleaning the knife wound. Uncertain, starting and stopping with every sentence, he said, “I convinced myself that I hated you, you know? When we first met. I never met anyone more infuriating, or more frustrating, or more…anything. I hated you because the alternative was—unthinkable. I didn’t let myself think about it. You. Us. I…when that asshole knocked me out, when he tied me up and locked me in a fucking broom closet and threatened to kill me….that was nothing compared to how scared I was when I saw you bleeding out on the floor.”

The whole time he’d been talking, he’d been working. Akmazian’s knife wound was cleaned, stitched, and dressed by the time he finally looked Akmazian in the eye.

“Akmazian, I…”

“Ryan,” Akmazian said. “I’m not Akmazian.”

“I…what?”

Slowly, Akmazian pushed himself up into a sitting position, ignoring Ryan trying to push him back down. He settled with his back against the wall, the warm, familiar thrumming of the ship’s engines keeping him steady.

“Let me tell you a story, Ryan.”

“Akmazian, would you give up the dramatics for once? You almost died today, just spit it out.” Ryan said, with that combination of annoyed and fond that only seemed to apply to Akmazian in his voice. Akmazian’s lips twitched upward. “Sorry darlin. Dramatics come with the price of admission. Besides, I think you’ll like this story. It’s got a bit of a sad ending, but maybe we’re not as near the end as I thought.”

Akmazian took a second to gather his thoughts. Finally, with Ryan’s concerned eyes on him, he said, “I’m not really Akmazian, the Destroyer of the Fourth War. That’s just a part I play—I play it to survive, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I liked who I was before better. I was a little boy first, just like you. I grew up in a city on a planet too far from here, just like you. I had a best friend who made me feel like I could be anything—tinker, tailor, solider, spy…whatever I wanted. With him, I could be anything or anyone. We grew up together, promised that someday when we were grown, we’d be together then, too. We’d travel the stars together, we said. Pinky swore it, even. But…” he huffed a laugh. “Childhood promises can’t always be kept. My best friend moved away when we were ten. I was mad at him for leaving me, so I never responded to his letters. By the time I came to my goddamn senses, it was too late. I thought he hated me. I thought he’d forgotten me. But I remembered him. I remembered his smile and his freckles and his quick wit. I remembered his mama who never cared about him enough and his big old house that never had anyone in it. But I most vividly remember the thing that first drew me to him—his hair.”

Akmazian reached out. His fingers brushed the cowlick that Ryan could never tame. Smiling softly, he leaned back. Ryan shook his head, consciously or unconsciously following Akmazian’s touch. 

“No, you…you can’t be him,” he said.

“He had pink hair,” Akmazian continued softly. His hand settled on Ryan’s face, cupping his cheek gently. “The most gorgeous thing I’d ever seen. I hadn’t seen a color like it before. I haven’t seen it since. Not ‘till he came waltzing back into my cargo bay and changed my life. Again.”

Hesitantly, Akmazian smiled, crooked and uncertain. Ryan was staring at him, dumbstruck. Akmazian could see his mind working at a million lightyears a second. He let his hand drop to his side.

“I thought you’d say that,” he quipped.

“Ian.” 

It wasn’t a question. There was no uncertainty in Ryan’s voice now.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Ryan. Maybe this time around, I’ll be able to keep it.”

“Akmaz— _Ian_.” Ryan shook his head. “I can’t believe I didn’t see it before. Ian.”

“Yes, Ryan?”

Ryan sank onto Akmazian’s cot. He turned his body to face Akmazian, their knees touching. He reached out, took Akmazian’s hand.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asked.

“You ain’t the only self-proclaimed coward in the room, darlin.”

Akmazian let that hang in the air for a long moment before continuing. “But let me tell you, I feel a hell of a lot better getting it out there. I’m not scared anymore.”

Ryan looked up from their joined hands. He tilted his head to the side, considering.  
“You know what? I’m not scared anymore either.”

Akmazian had always been be helpless to whatever force that pulled him toward Ryan, and knew that he always would be. And for once, Ryan seemed just as helpless to the pull. The seconds before their lips touched felt like years. It felt like a whole childhood of waiting, two decades of growing up and becoming someone he never thought he would, a tantalizing year of being simultaneously too near to not close enough to the man who was so permanently etched into his heart. 

He had his best friend again, a better friend than he’d been even when they were kids, and maybe something more. Their mouths finally slotted together in a moment so perfect that Akmazian felt his toes curl—and that was certainly worth the wait.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm sadhipstercat on tumblr, come talk to me!


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